


We Were Victims of the Night

by KristinaDavidovna



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, New Year's Eve, Pre-Iron Man 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristinaDavidovna/pseuds/KristinaDavidovna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dance with me." Natasha breathed, still inches from his face when she finally broke the kiss. Stepping backwards, she grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward a crowd of people dancing in front of a live band on the street.</p>
<p>Clint and Natasha on a mission in Rio on New Year's Eve that, fortunately, doesn't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Victims of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> _She took my arm,_   
> _I don't know how it happened._   
> _We took the floor and she said,_   
> _"Oh, don't you dare look back_   
> _Just keep your eyes on me."_   
> _I said, "You're holding back,"_   
> _She said, "Shut up and dance with me"_
> 
>  
> 
> Inspiration, title and borrowed lines from ['Shut Up and Dance' by Walk the Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JCLY0Rlx6Q)
> 
> Thank you to [J_Maria](http://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Maria/pseuds/J_Maria) for the beta and [shenshen77](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shenshen77/pseuds/shenshen77) for helping me hash out my idea, and for everyone who encouraged me to run with the plot bunny I whined about on tumblr.
> 
> This takes place in the same timeline as basically everything else I've written, so I'm sorry for the minor self-reference but it's just how my head works.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Clint didn’t fully understand what had just happened.

One minute he was leaning against the outside wall of a bar next to Natasha chatting idly as they tracked the movements of an arms dealer through the throngs of people celebrating New Year’s Eve in Rio. The next thing he knew her mouth was on his and she was pressing her body along the length of his. Stunned, he let her back him flat against the wall, it wasn’t until she ran her hands up his torso and snaked them around his neck that he began to kiss her back. Clint brought his hands to rest safely on her hips, unsure of what he should be doing with them and of what this meant.

When Natasha didn’t pull back at the contact and he felt her tongue run along his lower lip, his hesitation and confusion slipped away and he kissed her the way he'd been imagining for the past three years. He slid his hands up her back and over the soft skin her backless sun dress left exposed, threading one hand though the hair at the back of her neck, holding her impossibly closer. Clint felt rather than heard her hum in surprise, but she stayed in his arms, kissing him hungrily, matching the passion and fire he was feeling.

"Dance with me." Natasha breathed, still inches from his face when she finally broke the kiss. Stepping backwards, she grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward a crowd of people dancing in front of a live band on the street.

"Natasha, what-" Clint began, brow furrowed.

"Shut up and dance with me, Clint." There was no edge to her voice, no command.

Clint looked at her; her lips were swollen, a flush was creeping up into her cheeks, and her eyes were softer than he was used to seeing. She looked like how he felt, and the rest of his question died in his throat.  He let her lead him easily to the center of the dancers, blending them into the sea of tourists and locals all dressed in white. He’d watched her dance on missions before, but never with her.

The song the band was playing was light and upbeat, keeping with the festive atmosphere for the holiday. He was not a terrible dancer, he'd learned how to be graceful and light during his stint with the circus, but she was mesmerizing to watch and hard to keep up with. Natasha stepped and swayed with the beat - the usual lethality of her grace was gone, years of ballet training she'd received growing up making itself evident in her movements. She was dancing circles around him; jumping and pirouetting, rolling and twisting her hips to the rhythm of the guitar. Clint laughed when she bumped into his side and shimmied her shoulders.

"I'm not slowing you down, am I?" he shouted over the music. Before she could answer he grabbed her hand and spun her out as far as she could go in the crowd surrounding them and twirled her under his arm before bringing her back in for a dramatic dip. She laughed a throaty, hearty laugh at the move - a sound he loved hearing from her. Pulling her back up he said, "Because I'm sure I could find you a better dance partner in this crowd."

"Don't you dare look around for another partner, Barton." She grinned and spun under his arm again before pulling herself flat against him. Placing her hands on his shoulders she fell back into another dip. Instinctively Clint's hands went to her back for support and she sunk further down. Natasha rolled her body from left to right and then snapped herself back up into him, right leg coming up to hitch around his hip as she stood. "Just keep your eyes on me. You're the only one I want to dance with."

Her voice was husky and he could feel her breath on his neck as she lingered in her current pose for a few more beats. Clint was using every ounce of his will to not think about how good she felt pressed up against him like she was - trying to ignore the fact that her leg was wrapped around his hip in a way that was practically pulling him into her. He was definitely not trying to pay attention to how long she stayed pressed up against him, or that it she held her leg up for longer than necessary for a fun dance on a street corner in Brazil.

Clint still had no idea what she was doing, or why, and he trusted her enough to follow her blindly - but he really wanted to believe that this wasn’t just for of their mission, that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. It was a dangerous thought. After he recruited her, he insisted on befriending her to show her that the world wasn’t all bad and that not everyone wanted to use her. He’d kept his signals clear and open with her - he wanted to be her friend and that was all he wanted from her.

That had worked out really well for them until last year after the Budapest debacle when he realized that he was in love with her. Since then, Clint had been struggling to maintain their status quo, trying not to memorize how she felt lying next to him when they shared beds in shitty little safe houses across the globe, trying not to build up every little interaction they had to mean something more because he was certain she could never feel the same way. She could do much better than an ex-carnie, 38-year-old divorcee, so he was content to steal glances at her while no one was paying attention and do everything he could to draw out her laugh as often as possibly because he knew he could never have anything more.

But with how she had just draped herself over him, the tone in her voice when she said she only wanted to dance with him, and with the way she kissed him, he was beginning to think that maybe she could want to be more than just his friend. It was a hard possibility for him to consider.

Still, when she danced away from him, he silently mourned the loss of contact. Without thinking, Clint grabbed her hands and broke into the rudimentary salsa he’d learned from a Columbian fire dancer who had passed through his circus twenty-some years ago – he could only remember the basic step pattern and cross-body leads, but it would have to suffice for his intent to maintain contact, even in the most innocent way.

The look Natasha gave him was a cross between amusement and surprise, but she grinned and followed his lead with ease – stepping back and forth in tempo with the band. Clint consciously put an extra sway in his hips as he turned her, and he wasn’t sure who kept bringing her closer than necessary on the final quarter of the turns, but neither of them seemed to be objecting to it. Natasha laughed and smiled as they continued their little salsa, occasionally casting her eyes downward and then back up to maintain his gaze. Clint dismissed the looks she was giving him as just learning the steps.

Not long after they began, the song ended and the lead singer said something about slowing the tempo down, but Clint wasn’t listening. They’d stopped dancing mid-step leaving Natasha leaning forward, her body less than a foot from his chest. To his surprise, she finished the step forward, almost closing the distance between them. Clint’s heart pounded in his chest when she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, her expression almost shy.

“You’re full of surprises tonight.” She said, smiling up at him softly. She took another step toward him and moved her hands to his shoulders, never breaking their contact with him. Mindlessly, Clint brought his hands to her hips, brushing his right hand down her side in the process, and he could swear he felt her shiver as he did. The air was heavy and hot between them, the tension and electricity palpable.

“I could say the same for you.” He tried to laugh as he spoke, but it all came out thick, like his feelings for her were coating his words. She started leaning up into him. Clint’s next words came out before he could stop them, “Tasha, what are we doing?”

She stopped and opened her mouth, but before she could answer their phones went off simultaneously. She let out a curse as they both reached for their devices, Clint pulled his out from his pocket first and saw a message from Coulson on the screen.

_Extraction at rendezvous point in 30. Target down._

“We gotta go. Silva’s down.” Clint’s words were sharp as he led them back to the street and toward the cheap little motel they'd checked into.

They made their way to their room quickly and began throwing their bags back together in silence. Zipping his duffel closed, Clint sucked in a breath.

"Nat, I have to know why." He paused, ignoring the twisting in his gut. "Why did you kiss me? And why do I think you were about to do it again before Coulson sent us extraction notice?"

He watched her back go rigid for a fraction of a second, before she zipped her suitcase closed and spun on her heel to face him. Hesitation and something he couldn't place crossed her features before she set her expression.

"I saw two men in the crowd back there, Serbian mercenaries that I worked with when I was younger. I knew that if they saw me they would interfere and blow the mission completely." Natasha shrugged, voice nonchalant as she laid out her reasoning.

Clint felt like he'd been punched in the gut - he knew she could never want to be with him. He rubbed the back of his neck and simply said, "Oh, okay."

He watched as she opened her mouth to speak again, but something clicked in his mind and he stopped her before she even began.

"Dammit, Tash, you could have told me! You could have let me know that your cover was about to be blown!" He shouted at her. He was angry at himself for letting that hope creep into his mind, but he was mad and he was going to take it out on her.

"Clint, that's-"

"For fuck's sake, we've been working together for over three years! You can trust me, you know I'll have your back. God dammit, Natasha, I'm your partner, not a mark you need to seduce. You don’t need to fuck me to get me to cooperate." Clint spat. He watched her freeze immediately, her face went completely blank. He instantly regretted everything he'd just said, but he was too mad and too proud to backtrack.

"You’re right." Her voice was mechanical as she blinked a few times and let an uncomfortably calm expression wash over her features. "I should have told you, I should have trusted you. I'm sorry."

"We have to go. The rendezvous point is 20 minutes out." It was all Clint could say. They grabbed their things and left the room in silence, the sounds of celebration still in the air as she hotwired a car to get them to their destination as fast as possible.

They made it to their destination just as the quinjet touched down. Once they were strapped into their seats and the plane was in the air, Coulson informed them about the assassination of their target by a pair of Serbian mercenaries. At their mention, Natasha told Coulson of her previous involvement with them. He told them both that SHIELD was on their way to apprehend them before they left Brazil with the Intel they were currently stealing from Silva's warehouse.

"You two didn't even have to get your hands dirty on this one. Sometimes it's nice to let someone else do our jobs for us." Coulson concluded, his voice even as always, but with a hint of entertainment at the turn of events. "Romanoff, Fury will want to speak with you about your former associates. Any information you have on them will, of course, be very helpful in putting together the bigger picture."

"Like why the hell anyone else cared enough about a Brazilian arms dealer enough to kill him." Clint muttered bitterly.

"Something like that, Barton." Coulson's brow was briefly filled with confusion directed at him, but he let it go. "Rest up, Strike Team Delta. Full debrief once we touch down."

Coulson walked back to the cockpit and strapped himself in, leaving Clint and Natasha in silence. They didn't speak again for the rest of the flight.

 

Twelve hours later Clint walked out of the conference room and Natasha brushed past him and headed toward her room in a rush. He didn’t expect anything different, and he knew this would be the first time they had voluntarily not gone for their post-mission drink in three years. She hadn’t spoken directly to him during their debriefing with Fury, but she didn’t need to – they were both professionals and could recount the last 24 hours without discussing it. If Fury or Coulson had noticed that anything was amiss between the pair, they had kept it quiet, which was a blessing, the last thing he needed was a lecture. His guilt and bruised pride were more than enough to make him feel lousy.

Clint slowly made his way to his own bunk, taking the extra turns down the living corridors with identical sets of doors lining them all. He let out a heavy sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face when the door clicked behind him. His bow caught his eye and Clint contemplated heading to the range to give him a distraction, but instead he opted to take a shower and wash the last 16 hours off of his skin.

Standing under the warm spray of water, his thoughts wandered back to Natasha. He thought about her laughter when he dipped her the first time and the look of joy one her face when she was dancing around him. Clint didn’t hold onto those moments very long and the memory of the way she had reacted to his accusation, how she had shut down completely came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He had used her past against her, turned the actions she had been forced to do into some defining characteristic of her person for an insult.  

He fucked up. He fucked up big, and he knew he needed to apologize to her. Natasha was more important to him than his stupid ego, and if he had to tell her how he felt in order for her to understand why he had been so awful, then he would have to gather up his pride in order to make everything alright again. Clint quickly finished his shower, dressed in the first articles of clean clothing he found and headed to her room. He stalked down the halls, barely acknowledging other agents as he passed them – he was on a mission. He sucked in a breath as he turned the corner that led to her bunk and breathed out in a curse as he stood in front of her door. Clint knocked.

“Nat, it’s me. Please let me in.” He paused, waiting for a response – hoping that she would just open the door. He knew it sounded like he was begging, he didn’t care. “Tasha, I know you can hear me. I need to talk to you. We need to talk. Please just let me in. Please open the door.”

Clint stood there, inches from her door, for what felt like an eternity. He kept his eyes on the floor, just willing the door to slide open. When it finally did he looked up to see Natasha standing with her arms crossed, leaving him just enough space to step into her room. The door closed silently behind him, and his heartbeat quickened. Her anger hung filled the space between them. He wasn’t afraid that she would kill him, though she easily could, but he was terrified that she would never forgive him.

“What could you possibly have to say to me?” Natasha’s voice was ice cold as she spoke.

“I’m sorry.” He winced when she barked a laugh at his apology. “Natasha, please hear me out, I’m so sorry. I just... I need you to-“

“You need me to do what, Barton? Maintain proper spacing and distance from you at all times so you don’t think I’m treating you like a mark?” She snapped, her anger breaking through the ice she was trying to maintain. “You were so quick to assume that I didn’t trust you that you didn’t listen to me. I kissed you and I danced with you because I wanted to. It wasn’t because I needed to maintain our cover - Milosevic and Stankic are morons, I could have taken them out without trying breaking a sweat even in mid-summer Brazil. I didn’t use you, I used them. They were just a convenient reason to do it - I wanted to kiss you!”

“Wait, what?” Clint stammered, and knit his brows in confusion. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, there was no way that she meant that she wanted him. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because I didn’t know how you would have reacted. You never showed any interest, but I needed…” Natasha’s voice drifted off, her anger had given way to apprehension and vulnerability, which she didn’t try to hide. “You’re my best friend, Clint. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know how to do this, but I had to understand how I felt – because I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while - and I needed to know if you even would want me because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

 Her words hung in the air. Natasha looked small, he forgot how small she really was sometimes - but here, without her gear and dressed in sweats she looked so tiny.  She crossed her arms, not in defiance but in unease as she looked up at him. Suddenly, it all clicked for Clint. He was an idiot; he let his own self-loathing prevent him from seeing what was happening. He thought of the current irony of his codename - Hawkeye, but was so distracted by his pity he couldn't see something right in front of his face.

“I just needed to do something about it before I got reassigned –“ Natasha began, trying to fill the silence when Clint didn’t respond.

“Natasha, I’ve spent the last three years falling in love with you.” Clint said, voice steady and filled with mirth. “You’re my best friend too, you know. And I am so sorry for what I said to you, that’s not what I think about you at all. I was mad at myself, and I’m stupid and I love you.”

She didn’t respond, just closed the distance between them and cupped his face in her hands, and leaned up to kiss him sweetly. The kiss was chaste, not like the fire in their kiss in Rio – but it wasn’t about fire this time, they didn’t have anything to prove, there was nothing to test. He pulled away and wrapped his arms around her frame, holding her to him. Her arms wrapped around his waist, content to stand there in the middle of her bunk in his embrace.

“Clint?” Natasha said quietly. “I have to leave in a week.”

“What? Why?” He stepped back from her in surprise. He watched as she walked over to the bed and sat down, and he followed, taking a seat next to her.

“I’ve been reassigned.” Her voice was flat and she stared at the ground. “Deep cover at Stark Industries. I don’t know for how long, Fury isn’t sure. But I fly out next week.”

Clint threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Well, I guess that means we should go out on a proper date sooner rather than later,”

“Or you could just spend the night with me, right now.” Natasha said, a little bit of a dare around the edges of her words.

“You have no idea how much I want to, sweetheart, but I want to do this right. I don’t want to fuck this up, you’re too important to me.” He pressed another kiss to her temple before standing and walking toward the door. He turned around to look at her, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched him. “Tomorrow night. Dinner, drinks, and some dancing?”

“It’s a date.” She said and laughed loudly, causing Clint’s heart to skip a beat as he reached for the panel to open the door. “Happy New Year, Clint.”

“Happy New Year, Tasha.” He turned to see her smiling softly at him before he left.

Clint grinned like an idiot the entire way back to his room. He didn’t know how he was going to make this work, he was a human disaster when it came to relationships – but he was going to try, because nothing had ever felt to right than when he was with her. Clint didn’t believe in destiny, but he was pretty sure if he did, she would be his.


End file.
